Star Trek: Restoration Volume 1 - Redemption
by jamesmonaghan
Summary: In the aftermath of a centuries-long Dominion occupation, the Alpha and Beta Quadrants are slowly recovering. A new flagship is built, the Redemption. Captained by a half-human, half-Romulan, the Redemption and her crew sets out to restore the Federation to its former glory...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**3rd March, 2631**  
**The Hounslow Residence**  
**Southern France**  
**Earth**  
"It is 0700 hours."

The familiar sound of the computer pulled Ba'el Sarine from his nightmare. It lingered a moment longer – he was back on the bridge of the _Enterprise_, giving the order, watching the blackness unfold across the planet on the viewscreen as the voices screamed over the intercom…

_Third time this week_, he thought as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling. That's gotta be a record.

He waited a few moments to see if sleep was still within his grasp, then gave up. Sliding out of bed, he padded across the room to the fresher unit. The water took a moment to sputter out of the tap. He splashed some on his face and behind his neck, then glanced in the mirror. _God, Bay, you look like hell_. His eyes were sunken, the dark blue of his iris' verging on the black in the dim light. He brushed his lanky, unkempt hair away from his pointed ears, the scar tissue evident on the left one. He let it fall back. _How long has it been since I've been to have a haircut?_ He realised he couldn't remember.

Shaking his head, he walked to the door, which slid open to reveal the vast living room beyond, bathed in sunlight. He was blinded for a moment, lifting a scarred hand to protect his eyes

"Computer, shade."

Within seconds, the blinds began to slide across the window, only sticking twice as they swept out from the wall. They filtered out some of the early morning sun's bright glare. He could still see out of the vast wall to wall windows, his eyes taking in the majesty of the southern European coast. The azure tint of the sky met the darker blue of the Mediterannean far on the horizon. Ba'el stood there for a moment, taking in the view. He wondered how many times his mother had stood here looking out over the same vista before the Dominion killed her.

Turning away from the window, he grabbed his robe from the back of a chair and walked over to the small kitchen area. He sat down on a stool, switching on the small comm screen he had installed the week before. The floor beneath him shook slightly as the generator turned on in the basement. The screen sputtered to life

An attractive blond woman in a tailored blue suit sat in front of a holographic display showing the spinning glory of the Milky Way. The words Your Galaxy Today spun around and around the galactic hologram.

"... telling us that until the Andorians make an official request for our assistance, there is nothing the FAW can do."

Ba'el reached down and grabbed a bowl as the woman went on, "In other news, the Laurentine Hegemony has recently reopened negotiations for the possible presence of a Federation starship to be permanently attached to their space station Onyx. This has been welcomed by the Federation Security Council on Romulus as a major step towards normalising relations between the two nations. However, Admiral Killstreet has..."

Ba'el was reaching for the box of cereal above his head when a beeping sound interrupted the news feed. He touched the screen and a menu appeared, informing him that there was a comm signal coming through. Ba'el blinked. He hadn't received any kind of call since he had moved in to his mother's old house three months before. Especially not one with a Starfleet ID code.

Reluctantly, he touched the flickering icon to accept the call. Nothing happened. He touched the screen harder this time and it went black.

He was about to hit the damned thing to bring it back on line when the screen flickered and a smart young Ferengi male in a Starfleet ensign's uniform appeared. Behind him, through the thick static, Ba'el could just about make out a Starfleet comm centre, banal in its organised chaos.

"Captain Sarine. Please hold for Admiral Kovat."

Before Ba'el could object that he was no longer a captain of any kind, the screen went black again, replaced rapidly by the dark-skinned, reptilian face of a Cardassian, also in a Starfleet uniform. His cheeks were marred by three long scars, which ran from his forehead all the way down before vanishing beneath his uniform collar. The scars tensed as the man smiled

"Ba'el." He seemed genuinely happy to see his old friend. "You look like you've been dragged through the streets by a Klingon."

"It's good to see you too, sir." It was only partly a lie.

Jasad Kovat had been Ba'el's cell leader during the Occupation. The two had fought together in too many engagements to number. Once they had infiltrated a Dominion training facility and assassinated both the Vorta overseer and the Jem'hadar First and Second before they were found. They had escaped aboard an ancient Bajoran freighter whose warpdrive had given out after seven lightyears. Both men had remained close right up until the end of the war when Kovat had joined the fledgling Starfleet, shoved upstairs almost instantly with the rank of Admiral. As for Ba'el... Ba'el had come to Earth, the homeworld he had never known, to this house where his mother had once lived. He'd left the war and its aftermath far behind.

"I'm on Earth for a conference," Kovat said. "I was hoping I could come out there and see you."

"What for?"

Kovat seemed taken aback by Ba'el's tone. _I'm not part of your Starfleet, Jasad. We did things differently in the Resistance, or have you already forgotten?_ Still, he recovered well, his smile only faltering for an instant. "Just to catch up, see how you're doing. I haven't seen you since…"

"Yeah," Ba'el cut him off. He didn't need a reminder of the Incident. He lived through it often enough in his dreams.

An uncomfortable silence grew between them. Kovat avoided Ba'el's gaze, obviously aware of what was going through his old friend's mind. Finally, the quiet became too much for him. "It's important, Ba'el. You know I wouldn't contact you otherwise."

He thought about it, then decided it couldn't hurt. His former commander might even be telling the truth. He shrugged. "Why not."

"Excellent," Kovat said with a tight smile. "I'm going to be here in London giving a report to the Refugee Comitte for the whole day, but I could probably comandeer a transport out your way around 1700. I could be at your house by 1800."

"Fine. I'll make us some dinner."

"Looking forward to it."

"Me too," Ba'el lied.

The comm line broke off, leaving Ba'el to stare at the blank screen. He sat there, idly rolling the bowl over the work desk with one finger, wondering exactly what Kovat wanted. Despite what the Admiral had said, he had the distant feeling it had nothing to do with old times or swapping war stories. In fact, he thought he knew exactly what Kovat wanted to see him about.

And he was almost sure that he wasn't going to like it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Same day**  
**USS** _**Ulysses**_  
**En route to Romulus**

Deep in the darkness, Kalara stalked her prey, a tight hold on her bat'leth. All of her senses were alert and her muscles tense beneath her skin-tight leotard. Her blood sang the song of the hunt, the song even her ancestors had been unable to tame. Lips curled back, she revealed the sharp teeth that were her genetic heritage as a Klingon. Her head rose and she sniffed the dust-ridden air, searching for a hint of her prey.

She knew that the tunnels wound round towards a central cavern. A few side passages offered places to hide, but she did not think her opponent would be capable of such subterfuge. No, he would be waiting for her somewhere in these passageways. She just hoped that he would not be so crass as to simply be waiting for her in the central cave. She paused again, tossing her head this way and that as she sought out any trace of him on the air. Nothing.

She moved on. There was no natural light in the tunnel system, but she could see perfectly well in the darkness. It was one of many advantages she held over her prey. He would need some kind of equipment to be able to distinguish her in the shadows. Hopefully, that would give him away long before they found one another.

Pausing at a crossroads, Kalara flicked out her tongue, tasting the air. She felt the chalky taste of dust, the stale slick of enclosed air. And something else. A tang of sweat. Coming from behind her.

She spun round just in time to see a shadow detach from the wall and spring at her. Her eyes caught the slightest glint of metal in his hand. _How did he get behind me?_ She grinned and spun again, this time kicking out with her left foot. She caught her adversary on the chin, the impact almost sending her toppling over. She dropped into a crouch as her opponent went down with a grunt. To her surprise, he tucked and rolled, his dk'tagh knife scoring a line in the rock. He flowed back to his feet, his features surprisingly feral as he sneered at her.

_Have you been practicing, Damien?_

"Is that the best you can do, little girl?" The taunting tone in his voice sent a thrill through her lithe frame.

Steeling her face against the feeling, she began to circle round him, spinning her bat'leth a few times as she danced across the rock. She curled her upper lip, her tongue darting out as her breathing quickened.

"If you want more, come and get it," she sneered.

To her dismay, he took the invitation, rushing forward with an almighty roar. _Oh, Damien_. She side-stepped easily, the blade of his knife passing a good few centimetres from her side. She allowed her body to flow around, following him and bringing her bat'leth around to strike him behind the knees. The blow took out his legs and sent him tumbling to the floor. His knife skittered away, lost in the darkness.

Kalara moved quickly, springing from her crouch and pouncing on him. She straddled him, her bat'leth already in motion. She stopped it inches from his throat, one of the inverted blade points pressing against his skin.

"Do you yield?"

To her surprise, her opponent laughed. His oh-so human features scrunched up and his shoulders began to rise and fall. For a moment, Kalara stiffened, her Klingon blood screaming for her to avenge the insult by taking his head from his throat. Then she remembered who this man was and she stilled her hand.

"May I ask what is so funny?" she growled.

He shook his head, his attempts to choke back his laughter failing miserably. As he began to cough uncontrollably, she sighed. Climbing off of him, she sat down on the floor, crossing her legs and staring at him.

"Damien, if you're not going to take this seriously…" she began.

"No!" He coughed again, then started to giggle. "I do, I do. I swear, I'm taking this seriously."

She eyed him. "It does not look like it."

He shook his head, trying to hold back the laughter. "It's just when you asked whether I yielded, I had a flash of the look on your face this morning when…" He broke off, his laughter seizing him again.

"When what," she asked, her voice dangerously low. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say.

"When… when… when that Tellarite girl asked why you had those funny wrinkles on your face." He began to howl with laughter, rolling around on the cave floor. Kalara did not find the story funny, nor had she that morning. The incident had occurred back on Earth, when they had been waiting to board the _Ulysses_. She was sure that she had maintained her usual honorable composure during the whole incident.

Still, Damien had one of the most infectious laughs she had ever heard. The sight of him rolling around on the cave floor, covered in dust, his face red, forced a chuckle from her. This single crack in her demeanour only pushed him further, which increased her own laughter. Within moments, the two of them were both on their backs, howling like a couple of Khitomer sabre-wolves.

"Oh God," Damien wheezed, clutching his belly as his laugh faded to a mere chuckle. "I'm sorry, Kali. I know how important it is for you to teach me the Klingon way. Let's go again. I promise I'll do better."

She felt a surge of affection and attraction for her husband. He may not be a Klingon, he may not be a warrior, but he loved her and he was the only person who could pierce her armour of honor and responsibility. It was the reason she loved him. The reason she had married him despite her mother's objections.

Reaching out, she laid a hand on his arm. "I don't much feel like fighting, anymore."

The tone in her voice was unmistakeable. He looked over her, a cocky grin on his face. He growled. "Kalara, daughter of Elyra, are you propositioning me?"

She loved the edge to his voice. A shiver ran down her spine. Sliding across the rock floor, she swung her leg over his body, then straddled him. She leant down over him, letting her dark hair brush over his face. Then she bit his shoulder. Hard.

"What do you think?"

After that, there were no more words.

**xxx**

Once they had finished, they lay together on the cave floor. Her body was bruised, her breasts hurt where he had bitten her, while her legs were red with teethmarks. Their clothes lay in a heap beside them. Kalara felt wonderful. _We managed to rip almost everything this time_, she thought with a smile, her head cradled in the small indentation where Damien's arm met his shoulder. He's getting better.

Lying there, in the darkness, she wondered how this had happened. She hadn't been looking for love, especially not with a human. Her people may have gained in respect for the human race since seeing them fight so bravely during the Occupation, but they still considered them weak in comparison to Klingon.

_And this one is not even a warrior_, she heard her mother's voice in her head. _He cares for children. A woman's job!_

She couldn't deny it. Damien was a school teacher. He was also a writer, a novelist who wrote historical novels set before and during the Dominion Occupation. Thanks to his second job, he had been able to take an indefinite leave of absence and join her now on the _Redemption_. The Restoration-class starship was to be her first command and she was waiting for in the space docks in orbit of Romulus.

Of course, it was also his career as a novelist that had brought the two of them together. Damien had come to Khitomer doing research for a new book. Kalara had taken a month's leave to spend some time visiting her mother's estate on the homeworld. She remembered the day that Damien had shown up, dressed in slacks and a shirt, asking whether he could ask her mother a few questions about Korloth, her grand-father, who had been a key figure in the Khitomer Riots. He had been totally fearless before Lady Elyra, which was one of the first things Kalara had noticed about him. He may be a mere human, but only a man with a Klingon heart could stand up to Lady Elyra of the House of Maraka.

Kalara had been so impressed that she had volunteered to show him around the estate and help him trawl his way through the reams of family history that her mother kept meticulously in the House archives. The two of them had discovered mutual interests and a shared love for pre-Occupation Klingon politics. The rest…

"The rest was…" she murmured, more to herself, trying to jog the rest of the human expression from her memory.

"Hmmm?" Damien stirred beside her.

"What is that human expression? The rest is…?"

"What?" he muttered, obviously still half-asleep.

She smiled to herself and patted his side. "Don't worry. Go back to sleep." She squirmed slightly, making herself more comfortable.

Her husband murmured something she couldn't make out, his breathing slowing. Kalara closed her eyes, snuggling up against him. Of course, if anyone ask, she would deny ever snuggling anything. The feeling, though, was very agreable.

She was just drifting off when a voice cut through the darkness, destroying any chance of sleep. "Commander Thomas to Commander Kalara."

Kalara's eyes snapped open. In moments, she transformed from a wife to a Starfleet officer. She reached across her husband, who groaned loudly, and tapped the comm badge she had hidden in her clothes.

"Kalara here."

"Sorry to interrupt your training session, Commander, but there's a priority message coming in for you. From Starfleet Command."

Any last trace of sleep evaporated. She sat up, seeing her husband looking at her blindly in the darkness. She could see the confused look he wore. The _Ulysses_ should only be five hours out from Romulus. Surely Command could have waited until she arrived to speak to her.

Still, one didn't keep Command waiting. Especially not if you were just about to be minted Captain of a brand new starship.

"Patch it in down here," she instructed the _Ulysses_ XO, reaching down to grab her robe.

Draping it over her, she moved a few steps away from her husband. Asking for the computer to show the holodeck's arch, she turned her face away as the bright lights appeared out of the cave wall. Damien groaned again at the sudden brilliance. Hushing him with a waved hand, she moved into the arch, standing as close as possible to the screen. _Let's hope he can't see the bruises._

When the communication was established, Kalara was surprised to see an elderly Ferengi staring back. She had been expecting Admiral Kovath to be contacting her since he had offered her the position of Captain and would be handling the reception aboard the _Redemption_. Instead, she found herself face to face with this Ferengi, white hair sprouting copiously from his large ears. Still, from the pips on his jacket, she could see that he was a Vice-Admiral.

"Sir," she said, snapping to attention.

"Commander Kalara?" he peered at her as though through a veil of mist.

"Yes, sir."

"Is it my imagination or are you a Klingon?"

"Sir?" She didn't know what else to say.

"Surprising nowadays to see a Klingon in the Federation, considering your people ditched us all the moment the Occupation was over. I suppose you're one of those Khitomer Klingons, aren't you?"

She gritted her teeth. _Is he purposefully trying to insult me?_ "Sir. Yes sir."

"Never understood the difference myself," he said dismissively. "Anyway, as the humons like to say, that is neither here nor there. Of course no one knows where either location actually is. Still… I'm contacting you to inform you of a change in your orders. You are not to report to the Redemption when you reach Starfleet Command here on Romulus. Instead you are to report to my office."

"Sir! I was told to report to Admiral Kovath aboard the _Redemption_. Why hasn't he contacted me directly?"

"Admiral Kovath has other things to deal with. You are to report here to my office, Commander Kalara. Is that understood?"

"Sir. Yes sir."

"Good." He peered at her. "What are those bruises on your face?"

She flushed. "I… I injured myself in a training exercice."

"Well, be that as it may, it would be more fitting for a Commander to show the proper example to those who serve under her. I will see you when you arrive. Command out."

Before she could say anything else, the screen went black. Kalara stood there a moment longer, just staring at the screen. Her thoughts were in a whirl. There was only one reason she could see for this change of orders and the fact that Kovath had not wanted to talk to her directly. Her anger flared.

"What was all that about?" Damien asked, coming up behind her.

"I don't know," she said through gritted teeth. "I think..." She trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

"What?" Damien pushed her.

She turned and looked down at him, her eyes blazing. "I think I just lost _Redemption_."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**That Night**  
**The Hounslow** **Residence**  
**Southern France**  
Ear  
With dinner over, Ba'el and his guest headed outside, a glass of Romulan ale in hand. One of the first things Ba'el had done when he returned to his mother's home was to restore the garden. Enclosed by a high wall, the garden was now cloaked in darkness, but during the day it was a splendid vista of colours. Even now, though they were hidden, the plants and flowers filled the air with a heady aroma of life.

Both men stood for a moment, both staring up at the stars. Ba'el cradled his glass in both hands, enjoying the silence. The evening had gone well, so far. Kovat had held to his side of the bargain and the conversation had revolved around happy memories from their times in the cell – mad escapes, insane plans, simple moments spent around a camp fire on some Beta Quadrant planet, waiting for the sun to come up. For a few hours, at least, Ba'el had almost been able to forget what the war had cost him.

Then Kovat spoke. "Don't you miss it?" he asked. Ba'el's heart sank.

_Here we go._ Ba'el decided not to allow his old friend to come at him from a tangent. "Why don't you cut the crap and tell me why you really came here, Jas?"

The Cardassian turned away from the starscape. His face had changed – Jasad Kovat, the friend and former ally, was gone. Jasad Kovat the Starfleet Admiral, a man charged with great responsibilities, now stood in his place. He was all business, as he said, "I want you to join Starfleet."

Ba'el shook his head. "Not going to happen."

"At least hear me out."

"For what?" Ba'el snapped. "So you can give me some speech about honor and freedom and responsibility? I've heard it all before, Jas. From you, from Carlson, and Dana, and Ly'et. I told you then, I've served my time." He looked off into the shadows at the bottom of the garden, his eyes seeming to pierce the darkness. "I've paid the price."

"We know all of that, Bay. And we respect it. You know I wouldn't ask this of you if I had any other choice."

"There are always other choices, Jas. I learned that after Lutara."

The spectre of that mission, and its aftermath, hung between them for a long moment, like a physical presence. Ba'el went back to staring at the stars as Kovat gathered himself.

"This isn't just any mission, you know? We want you to command the _Redemption_."

"Never heard of her."

"You wouldn't have. She's fresh out of space dock. The first in a new line. Restoration-class."

"Subtle," Ba'el snorted. "_Redemption_. Restoration. What's next? USS _We're-Very-Sorry_?"

"She's a good ship, Bay. Top of the line. Like one of the ships we would have built before the Occupation. Better than the _Enterprise_ even." He paused. "We're thinking of making her the flag."

Ba'el couldn't help glancing at Kovat. "You're offering me the flagship?" Kovat nodded. Ba'el shook his head. "You must be desperate."

"You want the truth? Yes, we are."

"But why? Why do you want me to join your little toy navy so bad?"

A touch of heat seeped into Kovat's next words. "To tell you the truth, Bay, I don't. I don't need the grief. I don't need the guilt."

"Then why the hell are you..."

"It's the Laurentine."

"What?" Now Ba'el was totally confused.

"Two weeks ago, the Hegemony opened negotiations with the Federation. They have agreed to allow one of our ships to be posted to Onyx. We already had _Redemption_ ready to go, crew chosen, captain selected. It seemed like the perfect opportunity. Then, a few days ago, the bastards added a condition. You."

"What are you talking about, Jas?"

"The Hegemony will only allow us to send a ship if you command it."

Ba'el didn't know what to say. The Laurentine Hegemony lay on the far side of the Federation. They had seized a large chunk of what had once been Klingon space during the Occupation, allying themselves with the Dominion. As far as anyone had been able to tell, they had arrived from outside the galaxy, crossing the intergalactic rift in order to flee some unnamed foe. When the Dominion turned against them, the Hegemony joined the fledgling Resistance. Their help had been instrumental in the last years of the war. After the end of the Occupation, though, the Hegemony had vanished back beyond their borders, refusing each and every attempt the Federation had made to reach out to them.

"Why?" Ba'el asked after a moment.

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"I have no idea." He wracked his brains, trying to think of anything that could have ? this request. He couldn't. "I mean I fought alongside a few of them during the War, same as anyone in the Resistance. I spent a few days aboard the Onyx Station when we were designing the _Enterprise_. But from there to making a personal request for my presence on this mission..." He shook his head. It makes no sense.

"You know how important this could be, Bay," Kovat pressed. "We've already lost Andor, Vulcan and the Klingons, not to mention the dozens of independant worlds that chose to go their own way after the Occupation. The Earth Conference was a disaster. We can barely call ourselves the Federation of Allied Worlds."

"Now with the Klingons making forays into our territory, the Andorians proclaiming a new empire, the Gorn and the Breen baring their teeth... We can't afford another enemy on our doorstep. This is the first sign that the Hegemony may be willing to talk. If this goes well, we may be able to negotiate a more permanent alliance. Prophets, we may even be able to bring them into the Federation."

Kovat lapsed into silence, waiting. Ba'el closed his eyes, processing what his friend had told him. Part of him felt for his old cell leader. They had both fought hard for their freedom from the Dominion, only to discover that that freedom was not as simple as it had seemed. Both had taken different paths at the end of the war, but their initial plan had been the same.

But I made a promise, he told himself. I can't go back. I won't.

Finally, he shook his head. "I'm sorry Jas. You're going to have to find another way."

"There is no other way!" his old friend burst out. "Don't you have any sense of duty left? Your people need you!"

"My people are buried at the bottom of this garden, Admiral," Ba'el said coldly. "I abandoned them once, I won't do it again."

"They're gone, Bay. Elera, Torvol, they died. You weren't here. How long are you going to punish yourself?"

"As long as it takes."

"The other Admirals were right." Kovat waved his hand dismissively. "You are nothing but a shadow. You're just waiting to die, aren't you? Well I have news for you, Bay. You didn't die. You lived. That may hurt, but maybe it's about time you realised that we all lost people in the Occupation. We carry on. We get on with living. It isn't easy, it's damned painful in fact. But it's what people do. If you can't, then maybe it's time for you to end it."

His old friend turned, walking back into the house. He paused in the doorway, not looking at Ba'el as he spoke.

"There are millions of beings suffering out there, Bay. Picking up the pieces. You may have a chance here to make sure that the galaxy they wake up to every morning is a safer one than it could have been. Ask yourself what Elera would have wanted you to do. Think about all the other families who might be torn apart if the Hegemony decide we're a more tantalising victim than we are allies."

Without another word, he was gone. Leaving Ba'el to the stars and the silence and the guilt.

**xxx**

Once Ba'el had cleared away the plates and tidied the kitchen, he went back outside. He stood for a moment, enjoying the cool air and looking up at the stars. His mind echoed with Kovat's last words – all of the other families who would suffer as he had suffered if another war broke out now. Could he let that happen? Could he turn his back on Jas, on everything they had fought so hard to gain? And for what? For the first time since Goltara, he actually wondered who he was doing it all for. For his wife and his son? Or for himself?

Finally, he made a decision. Slowly, he walked down the path towards the bottom of the garden, pushing through the fringe of caspa roots, their tendril-like leaves brushing over his shoulder.

They stood beneath a willow tree, their white brilliance like a beacon in the moonlight. Two marble stones, set in the ground. As he reached them, Ba'el fell to his knees in front of them, oblivious to the tears that had begun to fall.

**ELERA SARINE**  
**LOVING WIFE AND** **MOTHER**  
**Her light will shine upon the Valley of Fire**

**TORVOL** **SARINE**  
**BELOVED SON**  
**His light shone too brightly and faded too fast**

There were no bodies underneath, of course. They had never been found. The blood had been enough. Now, only the headstones remained as markers.

"I'm sorry," Ba'el whispered. "I'm so sorry." He bowed his head and began to weep.

There was no reply.

**xxx**

Admiral Jasad Kovat walked into his hotel room in New York in a foul mood. Ba'el's stubborn refusal had been bad enough. When he had reached his transport, though, he had found another message from the Company, pressing for news on his efforts to convince his former friend to join the _Redemption_ mission. He had erased it without responding. He wasn't ready yet to give up, but he knew his time was running out.

Throwing his jacket over the chair, Jasad headed for the fresher. A good long shower would clear his mind, help him gain a little clarity. Afterwards, he would ask the Prophets to guide him. He was halfway to the little shower room when he heard the beeping.

He stopped in his tracks. The beeping was coming from the room's comm terminal. He hadn't told anyone which hotel he was staying in. No one, except… He hurried over and pressed the connection button. There was a slight lag in the transmission, then Ba'el's face appeared.

By the Prophets, he looks as if he's seen a ghost.

"Bay! What is it? "

"I... I've reconsidered. What you said. What I said. I… I think it's about time I did something to make sure no one goes through what I did. If you are absolutely sure that you still trust me. I know how people felt after the _Enterprise_, and… Well, I'm in. If you want me. What do I have to do?"

As Kovat arranged a rendez-vous with Bay the next day at the Paris Transport Hub, he felt a surge of relief. The Company would be pleased.

And he would really have hated ordering his old friend's execution.


End file.
